Teetering
by Molotov
Summary: Scott Summers - responsible, rigid, leader of the X-Men. Take a look at the world through his red-draped eyes, and his attempt to balance life, being a mutant, romance, and the impending Apocalypse.
1. Empty

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution. If I did, I'd finance for tons of new episodes.  
  
Author's Notes: This is written from Scott's perspective (although I'm sure you would have picked up on that while reading), and takes place from where the show left off (after Rogue's powers freak out, and the X-Men and Acolytes do battle with that big spider).  
  
So...enjoy. That's the point of this.  
  
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**Teetering**  
**Chapter One**  
  
  
  
  
"So...how are you doing?"  
  
"Fahne."  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"What is this? Yah gettin' all touchy-feely with meh, now?"  
  
"Just answer the question."  
  
If this were any other girl, she would have stuck her tongue out on me.  
  
"Empty," she said after a lengthy pause.  
  
A unique response, but one not uncommon with this decidedly unique girl.  
  
I nodded in reply - what more could I say?  
  
When I didn't say anything, her expression changed, and she retreated further into her shell, growing more standoffish. She didn't have to speak for me to know she wanted to be alone - her body language spoke it in volumes.  
  
I sighed and leaned backwards in my chair, pushing my glasses back up the ridge of my nose, eyes on her all the while.  
  
She looked away, obviously uncomfortable with the way I was looking at her...watching her...  
  
How would she react if she knew I was drinking in her beauty with my eyes? That was one of the few advantages of being chained behind protective eye wear - anonymity.  
  
She was beauty personified, the living embodiment of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. A lily in winter, she was a light shining in the blackest of nights, which was contradictory to her attitude and demeanor, and choice of attire.  
  
Yes, I think it's fair to say that I was more than infatuated with her.  
  
I watched her slip back from sitting up to laying back down, a lock of hair, with part of that strange white streak in it, dangling in front of her eyes.  
  
She looked at me for a moment, looking straight into my eyes (it was almost as if she could see through the glasses), before rolling over onto her side.  
  
The skin on her cheek darkened somewhat, piercing through the layers of makeup she wore. Even if everything was bathed in red, I could see she was blushing, and so I knew now was the time to excuse myself.  
  
"I'll be back by a little later, okay?"  
  
She didn't reply.  
  
I leaned in and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently in response to her body suddenly growing very stiff. Even though the drab gown she wore was plenty to protect me from her poisonous skin, it was always her natural reaction to physical contact that she didn't initiate.  
  
"Remember, I'm here for you if you need me. I'll _always_ be here for you, Kate."  
  
The corner of her mouth quirked upwards, and I beamed on the inside.  
  
I had sort of given her that unofficial nickname ever since we had been given that assignment in English class so very long ago.  
  
I said it rarely, not wanting to make it lose it's feeling, it's importance, it's true meaning.  
  
It always seemed to make her feel better...maybe for the lines in the play that the name was derived from...maybe because she was always pleasantly surprised to know that I remembered...or maybe just because it was something that we shared together.  
  
I had been making a serious effort to try and connect with her, ever since that fateful night. That was why she said she had felt so empty - after having the memories of so many people taking up so much space in your head that you were beginning to forget yourself was something hard to deal with, and the chaos that ensued as they fought for control of her was even harder, and then the crushing feeling of loneliness that set in after they were all wiped away.  
  
And on top of all that, learning that the woman who raised you as an infant was really a ruthless, cold, calculating killer was never something that could be taken lightly, no matter how strong of a person you were.  
  
But no matter how hard I tried, she was always apprehensive about talking to me. Or to anyone. Except maybe the Professor or Logan.  
  
It's hard, because I want to help her so very much, if only she'd let me.  
  
I think it's even worse on Kurt. When he found out Mystique was his mother, it hit him _real_ hard. If anyone can sympathize, and more importantly, empathize with her, it's him. If she was taking it hard that the woman was her adopted mother, it's only magnified ten-fold on Kurt, since she is his biological mother, and the person responsible for his appearance.  
  
Kurt's constant cheerful mood was something that always amazed me, with all of the hardships he's faced in his life. Even if it's really just a way for him to block away the painful memories, it's still something that amazes me to no end, and I respect him so highly for it.  
  
But I'm breaking off into another tangent altogether.  
  
When Kurt found out the truth, Rogue was probably his biggest pillar of support. As much as the rest of us tried, no one could reach him quite like she could. I think it was because of the memories she had absorbed...she could share in the sentiment better than anyone else.  
  
But when we all found out that Kurt was her step-brother...half-brother...I'm not quite sure what it is, exactly. I'm a little confused by it. But...she seems to be pushing him away, and it's always easy to tell when he's just come from a fresh bout of talking to Rogue. He looks like a sad kitten, with his tail drooping and his ears pulled back. He goes into his room and he won't come back out for a while.  
  
Which is why I try so hard, I suppose. Maybe I'm just delusional, thinking that I, over anyone, could reach her.  
  
Yeah...I'm delusional.  
  
Hell, who am I kidding? I do it because I...well...I think 'love' might be too strong of a word, but I care for her. Very much.  
  
We've got more in common than she realizes, more than anyone realizes, for that matter.  
  
We lost our families, and come to find new ones.  
  
We both lack control over our abilities, but I know that can change for her. I hope to God or whomever is out there that it's so. She deserves so much more.  
  
But I'm getting off track again. I tend to do that when I'm not paying attention. Or when I try to justify liking Rogue, and not feeling the same for Jean, the girl I've been pining over since the day I laid eyes on her.  
  
I left Rogue behind in the infirmary, and walked down one of the multitudes of hallways inside the Institute, looking at a particularly nice view of the sun slowly setting behind the forest that provided a sort of natural barrier from the outside world.  
  
Suddenly, the ground began to shake below my feet, and I leaned onto the wall for support. Windows rattled, trees outside began to shake, and the earth roared.  
  
The tremor ended as quickly as it began, which meant only one thing: Avalanche.  
  
I had been just as surprised as the others when Lance Alvers, Todd Tolansky, and Fred Dukes showed up at the mansion gates that morning. I think they would have torn down the metal barring their entrance if Logan hadn't been there to scare them into not doing so.  
  
And for whatever reason, they were let inside, and went to speak with the Professor, and before I knew it, they were the newest residents of the Institute.  
  
That was a week ago, and everyone is still trying to get used to the new living arrangements. I was just relieved to know that there were enough spare rooms for them to each get their own.  
  
I recall, just yesterday, how Jean remarked over my relative calm about our new arrivals, since Lance was always glaring at me or throwing unwanted leers in Kitty's direction, and Fred was always glaring at Jean and I (when not competing against Kurt in contests to see who could eat more), and Todd...well, Todd had looked miserable since I first laid eyes on him, but from the morning they came to the mansion, wearing their ragged clothes and carrying little else, Todd just looked downright pathetic. He reminded me of a puppy that had just been kicked. He never spoke more than two words to anyone, and spent most of his time locked away in his room, or surprisingly, participating in Danger Room sessions, notably in the veritable gauntlets that Logan often runs for himself, the kind that give me and Mr. McCoy a run for our money.  
  
Speaking of Mr. McCoy, our search for Mesmero and the third key has turned up nothing, or at least from what I've been told. The Professor said that he'd been keeping in close contact with Magneto, whom was engaging in his own search. The Professor suggested that the two of them pool their resources together so as to increase their chances for success, but Magneto declined, giving no reason why. I think he just wanted to find the third key himself, as some sort of vindication for destroying the spider.  
  
And on top of all of that, we've all got to deal with the world fearing us, hating us. Sometimes it just seems so easy to stop doing the right thing, and take the easy road.  
  
But I did that once.  
  
I won't let myself do it again.  
  
Another small earthquake shook the mansion again, this one even harder.  
  
I grunted, annoyed at how my quiet day was quickly degenerating into yet another...I don't know how to describe it. Interesting? Exciting? Eventful?  
  
Yeah. Eventful.  
  
I straightened up a picture, recently slanted from the tremors, and headed off toward the epicenter.  



	2. Night

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution. I don't own much, except alot of Godzilla movies. And imported soup.  
  
Author's Notes: Randirogue is the epitome of godliness and badassness. 'Nuff said.  
  
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**Teetering**  
**Chapter Two**  
  
  
  
  
It's late, and it's dark, the only light coming from the dim lamp behind me. I stand and lean on the railing of the balcony in my room and stare off into the darkness, calm and serene, losing in the swirling mass of my thoughts.  
  
The silence.  
  
For some, the silence is excruciating. They can't sit still and quiet for too long. A particular furry German comes to mind...  
  
But I...I enjoy the silence. The calm, soothing silence, like watching a sunset over the ocean horizon, not like the eerie, gut-wrenching silence as you step down a dark alley, late at night, hoping someone won't jump out and stick a knife to your throat for your wallet.  
  
But the quiet and silence means no ill-will is afoot (even if it may be soon thereafter). It's...well, soothing. There's just no other way to describe it.  
  
I never did figure out what quite happened from those tremors. No more followed the first two, and I was just too tired to deal with any problem at that moment.  
  
So I went to my room, sat out on the balcony, and just watched the world go by, waiting for the night, when I was most at peace, despite the things that went on in my mind.  
  
The night.  
  
I used to hate it when I was young, especially in the summers. I didn't want those fun-filled days to ever end. I miss that feeling, like I miss my parents, like I miss seeing color, and how I miss...my innocence.  
  
It's not easy, having everything so important (whether you knew it at the time or not) and so dear to you taken away in the blink of an eye.  
  
In the blink of an eye.  
  
I hate that phrase so much.  
  
Seems petty, doesn't it?  
  
But I guess it's fair to say that I'm rather sensitive about anything pertaining to eyes and sight.  
  
I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if none of this had happened - no head injury, no X-Gene, no accident...  
  
Well, I'm lying. I don't wonder just some of the time about that. I wonder about it _all the time._  
  
I think about what might have been, what could have been.  
  
When I'm feeling my worst, I usually think of it as 'what _should_ have been.'  
  
I think about what could have been instead. Alex wouldn't have that stupid surfer accent, I wouldn't need 'protection,' dad would still be in the Air Force...hell, I'd probably be ready to ship out for boot camp around this time.  
  
And I think about what _wouldn't_ have been, and I feel a little guilty.  
  
I have a hard time deciding if the good outweighs the bad.  
  
There would have been no Professor X, my second father, and the man responsible for my being alive and well.  
  
I wouldn't have met my fellow mutants, teammates, friends; my new family.  
  
And of course, I think of Rogue. Which is so odd, because up until a year ago, that name would have been 'Jean.'  
  
I think I had a crush on Rogue since that night in Mississippi when we unsuccessfully tried to recruit her. I don't know when I accepted that my feelings for her were more than just "Wow, she's pretty...in a dark, Gothic way."  
  
I like to think it was in New York City last Christmas when I fully realized just how much I cared for her, but didn't really accept it at the time. I mean, I was in love with Jean; beautiful, brilliant, always level-headed Jean. Not the alone, sad, lost Rogue.  
  
I felt guilty about liking Rogue, especially after being abandoned in Mexico. I wouldn't have made it out alive without Jean. There's no denying it. And in some ways, it rekindled my feelings for her. And I finally took a step forward. Which explains the weird, pseudo-relationship I'm in with her. I suppose, technically, we're boyfriend and girlfriend, even if we don't act that way too often.  
  
And that always makes me think of something else, which creeps me out. When I associate a beautiful girl to something so grim, it makes me shiver. Especially because both of them do it to me.  
  
Death.  
  
A girl shouldn't make me think of death, right? Much less a girl I claim to have romantic feelings toward? It isn't her fault. Hell, _their_ fault. I guess I wasn't clear on which girl...I'm sometimes not even sure myself, but the both of them do it. And it still doesn't change the fact that I so often associate them with death.  
  
I know it sounds sadistic and brutal, but if I ever come across Mystique again, I will show her **no** mercy whatsoever.  
  
I know, one wouldn't think I would be capable of such an act, since I'm such a 'responsible young man,' with 'morals' and 'principles' and 'compassion.'  
  
...Compassion be damned.  
  
I'll show her the same compassion she showed me when she pushed me off the ledge to the icy waters below, when she incinerated the mansion with me and the others inside, when she left me blind and alone in the desert...  
  
I showed her, and everyone else, that I was more than capable of showing my dark side. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.  
  
No one knows that I feel this way, surprising since I live in a house with two telepaths, a place where secrets are hard to keep.  
  
Or if they know, they don't let on, for which I am grateful.  
  
Either way, I put the mental shield that the Professor taught me to good use.  
  
You wouldn't think it if you looked at me, that such a cavalcade of feelings, varying from one extreme to another were floating around in deepest recesses of my mind, or how how two very different girls can make me feel a single emotion, and it not be the most obvious one.  
  
How I go from feeling sadness to confusion to fury is beyond me.  
  
I take one last look out the balcony window and crawl into bed, click off my bedside lamp. The room plunges into the darkness and soon enough, I succumb to the sleep...  
  



	3. Gloomy

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution. I wish I did. Then I'd have all the episodes I could want.  
  
Author's Notes: Ah, thanks for all the reviews, everyone. You're all to generous. Sorry that this chapter took so long to get up and posted - I've been working ALOT lately, so by the time I get home, I just want to collapse into a pile of sludge and go "garooooog."  
And I apologize if Scott comes off as sounding a little out-of-character in this. I'm trying to explore the various dimensions of the character, along with the inevitable attitude changes that come with events as such in the show, while still trying to retain his core qualities. Again, I apologize if it comes off as a little out-of-character.  
  
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**Teetering**  
**Chapter Three**  
  
  
  
  
I kissed the cold metal, and wished I had Kitty's abilities.  
  
The projectile screeched overhead, and smashed into the far wall behind me.  
  
But through the proverbial fog of war, I barely heard it.  
  
In one fluid motion, my left hand shot forward to my temple, tapping the button on the side. A beam of red light shot forward and smashed into the mechanical drone hovering toward me.  
  
The force from the optic blast pushed it backwards a few feet before roughly slicing it into two pieces, and the expensive-looking piece of machinery fell to the ground, nothing more than rubble.  
  
For the briefest of moments, I wondered where the Professor got the money for...well, everything in the mansion, and who exactly _made_ all the training equipment my teammates and I regularly trashed.  
  
But only for the briefest of moments.  
  
I had long since gotten used to the fact that, no matter how much damage was done, it was all typically better when it came time for the next session, so I paid it little mind.  
  
Besides, I was too busy watching Todd Tolansky, the fly-eating, wallet-stealing, swamp-reeking Toad, damn near flying through the air, ricocheting off the walls, projectiles screaming after him. If it weren't for his grim expression, lack of hygiene, and yellow-green skin, I would have said it looked almost beautiful, in a twisted, poetic way.  
  
Of course, I don't really know what color his skin is. I'm just basing it off of what others tell me. And my own vague memories of seeing frogs when I was younger.  
  
Caught in their own crossfire, the training drones quickly decimated each other.  
  
That was his typical tactic when it came to this particular type of training session. Not that I blamed him. If my only powers were hopping around, smelling bad, spitting God-only-knows-what, and being a general nuisance, I suppose that's what I'd do.  
  
A loud buzzer sounded, marking the end of the session, although from the noise it made, I could have sworn I was at a hockey game.  
  
I didn't mind that it was over - in fact, I embraced it. I was too distracted to be in the Danger Room. I knew it, understood it, yet ignored it. I didn't stop because...well, when your physical health is on the line, you tend to not worry about the little things that plague you in your day to day life. Except my problems can't really be 'little', can they?  
  
It was a Saturday afternoon, so it wasn't a mandatory session. Meaning it was only Logan, Todd, and I. It was usually always just Logan and I, sometimes one or two others would join in, but ever since the Brotherhood showed up, Todd found his way into the mix.  
  
"Alright, you two are done. Go on before I decide you should help clean up this mess you made." Logan's voice holds a touch of amusement in it, plainly obvious through the loudspeaker. For whatever reason, he decided to sit out this one. It's almost like he's taken the frog boy under his wing; not surprising from the amount of time they spend in the Danger Room.  
  
In fact, I think Todd thrives on the training. Since he, Fred, and Lance were expelled from school, they spent all their time at the Institute. I think the Professor tutors them, but I doubt since he's been so busy lately.  
  
Which means they have little to nothing to do.  
  
Fred eats the cupboards bare, Lance broods or tries to cause mischief, and Todd...  
  
There's a fire in his eyes when he's training. I can tell. It's like a raging inferno deep inside him, pumping him full of energy. He takes on a grim expression, and practically radiates a sort of aura about him, one that makes you stop and stare. And when we end a training session, he looks so...well, as Rogue so eloquently put it, empty. The light is gone, and he walks with a slouch. His eyes change, and it's almost as if he's looking far away for something, almost expecting to see something coming over the horizon.  
  
Or maybe someone.  
  
I finished picking myself up off the floor, brushing non-existent dust off the front of my uniform, watching Toad. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, and let out a long breath of air, before making his slow trudge into the staging room. Gone was his traditional hop; it having been replaced with a sagging plod, like he were Atlas, doomed to carry the world on his back for all eternity. Well...maybe it wasn't _that_ bad, but the analogy isn't too far off the target.  
  
I fought the urge to ask what was wrong. It was plainly obvious that something was on his mind, but I tend to try and let someone speak what's on their mind. Which is why I never pressed him on it.  
  
Yeah, I know. I'm a hypocrite. But then again, as shallow as it sounds, and as much as it sounds so _not_ like the me that I project to others, most other people aren't as beautiful as Rogue.  
  
And maybe that just makes me such a male...I inquire on how Rogue is because she's beautiful, and because I care for her so deeply. I can't exactly say the same applies for Todd.  
  
I considered asking him then what was the matter, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't tell me. I had only tried asking once, and failed. I've heard others ask...and meet with a result similar to my own.  
  
And well...call me nosy, but I wanted, and still want, to know what his problem was. That, or some weird sense of responsibility drove me to want to know.  
  
I guess being the leader of the X-Men means I should know these things.  
  
That, or I'm just nosy.  
  
It varies, I'd say, based on how I'm feeling at the time.  
  
Heh. I almost sound like a woman with mood swings when I put it like that.  
  
Of course, Jean would kill me if she heard me say that.  
  
Rogue, too.  
  
And Kitty. And Amara, Tabitha, and Ororo.  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
I never did ask Toad. I decided to try an alternate method.  
  
Lance wouldn't tell me. I'm positive that he wouldn't. He would just look at me and say "It's none of your damn business, _Sumners_."  
  
To which I would retort with something equally lame, and it would just escalate until one of us did something we'd end up regretting.  
  
So Alvers was out of the question.  
  
Fred, on the other hand, was definitely **not** out of the aforementioned question.  
  
I left the Danger Room and showered up, and headed down to the kitchen.  
  
Surprisingly, he was not there.  
  
I did however, find a very frayed and harried Ororo. She looked tired and worse for wear. I'm not sure if it was because of the recently increased food bill, or because she was still distressed over Evan.  
  
...It was probably both.  
  
Ororo pointed out a window. "I sent that...child outside. He must have a second stomach, for I have seen him out-eat Kurt..." She shook her head wistfully, as if that were an impossible task. I would have agreed, but I had seen Fred in the school cafeteria.  
  
Sure enough, I found him seated on one of the benches that were scattered across the mansion grounds, with a bag of potato chips in hand, looking out at the view.  
  
"What are you doing out here?" I asked needlessly, knowing full well what he was doing outside.  
  
"She kicked me out," he replied around a mouthful of mashed grease and artificial flavorings, not bothering to turn around and look at me.  
  
I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know who 'she' was.  
  
"Is it time for dinner yet?" This time he did turn around to look at me, a brightness in his eyes. It was a little unnerving.  
  
I shook my head. "Not yet. Sorry. Should be done soon." I stepped over to the bench and sat down on the small piece not taken up by my...housemate. Fred eyed me warily all the while.  
  
"Mind if I ask you a question?"  
  
"Uh. I guess not. Why?"  
  
"It's about Toa..er, Todd." I figured I should use his real name, especially around those who knew him best. I wasn't sure if there was some sort of hidden issue with it. Besides, it was common courtesy. I'm sure the other members of the Brotherhood called Fred 'Blob' or some other cruel weight-oriented name.  
  
Except Pietro. But he was so full of himself that his opinion didn't matter.  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"He's been acting...different lately." I had to be careful with the words I used if I wanted a real answer. "Not like his usual self. He won't tell anyone what's going on, and I know that you know. So...what's his deal?"  
  
Fred drew back as if he were offended, and sneered a little. "What's it to you?"  
  
I held up my hands in a defensive manner. "Hey, I'm just curious, that's all. And if there's something I can do to help him out, then I'll do it."  
  
Fred studied me for a moment, hostility draining from his face, as he looked to be debating with himself silently. I'll admit - it was an odd sight. Most people take him for stupid when they first see him. I know I did. But Fred Dukes isn't stupid. Oh, he may not have the greatest marks in school, but he's far from stupid. He's...cautious. Careful. Calculating. Deliberate. I think it's something he's disciplined himself to rather well - for someone of his amazing power, he has to be careful in his actions, else he could seriously hurt someone. And even if, for the longest time, we were on separate lines, I don't think he'd intentionally hurt anyone.  
  
"Uh...I don't uh...think I should say anything..." he said at last.  
  
"C'mon," I began. "I'm just trying to help him. He's your friend, and I know you want to help him out. You've just...you've got to help me help him." Boy, can I ever sound like a psychiatrist sometimes...  
  
"I...I don't know..." Fred stammered.  
  
I shrugged. "Oh well. It didn't hurt to try, right?" I clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, turning back towards the Institute. "Dinner should be ready soon," I told him, and began making my way back.  
  
"Wait."  
  
I nearly tripped at that. I honestly didn't expect an answer. Like I told him, it didn't hurt to try.  
  
I faced Fred again and involuntarily raised a brow in response. "What is it?"  
  
He stood up, but stared at the ground, dry-washing his hands. He licked his lips before he spoke, speaking in low tones.  
  
"It's...it's because of a girl, alright?"  
  
To say that I was taken a bit aback would have been an understatement.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It's because of a girl."  
  
Todd, the smelly Toad, was broody and gloomy...because of a girl..? It was almost too strange to believe.  
  
And then it started to piece itself together slowly in my mind. He had a thing for this girl, but she obviously didn't share the sentiment, therefore crushing his spirit.  
  
Fred nodded when I said that out loud. "Yeah...you're about right..."  
  
"Heh. Well, whaddya know? Todd...and a girl..." I snapped out of my daze for a moment and looked back up at Fred. "Thank you," I told him sincerely. "I'm sure that was a little hard for you to say, not wanting to betray your friend's trust. It stays between us, okay?"  
  
Again, Fred nodded.  
  
I waved and bid my goodbyes again, resuming my trek back inside. And while my physical form was in the town of Bayville, in the state of New York, my mind was in outer space.  
  
A girl...  
  
He's the way he is...because of a girl...  
  
Which, of course, surfaced new questions. Who was she, was she important enough to turn a normally spry teenager into an angsty mess, why exactly did she reject him, and a whole myriad of others.  
  
Yeah...I sound way too much like a psychiatrist sometimes.  
  
But still, all because of a girl...  
  
I guess the Toad and I are more alike then we ever knew...?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Yeah, so it wasn't nearly as good as the first two chapters, and for that, I apologize. But still, I hope you all continue to enjoy and read (and hopefully review) this story.  



	4. Unjust

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution. I wish I did. Hell, I wish I knew when they're gonna show the new episodes.  
  
Author's Notes: Hm. Mental note: don't update at 3 a.m., as it means your story is pushed back early on, meaning you get fewer reviews. That, or the last chapter was blehy. But I still appreciate the reviews you did leave. Without them (or money), I'd not write. Anyway, sorry about the long update time. I've been busy with work and the like.  
  
Oh, and a WARNING: I don't sugar-coat anything in this story. I'm not pulling any punches, holding back anything. Some of the stuff in here will be very blunt and to the point, and some might find it offensive, or a bit disturbing. Consider this your warning. This might not even be necessary, as I'm sure you're all strong people, but this is so no one can cry to FF.net that this made their heads explode and get me banned, y'know? Thanks.  
  
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**Teetering**  
**Chapter Four**  
  
  
  
  
Everyone who knows me knows one universal thing: I love my car.  
  
It's probably the only naturally red thing I _don't_ hate.  
  
That...and maybe Jean's hair.  
  
It's another of my pet peeves, another thing that others would find petty - I don't much care for the color red. I think it's safe to say the reason why is plainly obvious.  
  
But not the car.  
  
I like the car.  
  
I _love_ the car.  
  
How can I not? She (I find myself sometimes referring to the car as a 'she', as if it were a boat or something) is every teenage guy's fantasy.  
  
Smooth and sleek and fast...oh, is she ever fast.  
  
The day the Professor gave it to me, about a week after I turned sixteen, I was...I don't think there's a word in the English language-- hell, **any** language that can describe how I felt. With that car, I felt like I had been given the keys to the candy store.  
  
For that first month, I probably would have slept in that car if the Professor had allowed it.  
  
I take better care of that car than probably anything else, save a person or two. The slightest nick, scratch, chip, dent, anything; I'm on it like bees to honey.  
  
Especially now, since it was my only material possession to survive Mystique's incineration of the Institute.  
  
Of course, that seems rather superficial and pointless after everything that's happened since then.  
  
But still, it's more than just a flashy sports car. It's almost a way of escaping life and into a world all my own.  
  
Cruising down the open road, top down, and the wind blowing through my hair is something that I really enjoy. It's even better than flying the Blackbird.  
  
Sure, it sounds clichè, like something out of a James Dean movie, but I've never been renowned for my originality.  
  
I think I should take offense to that. Everyone has a very generalized opinion of me - rigid, uptight - that sort of thing.  
  
And I'll admit - I'm very much those things. Maybe it's from growing up in a military family. Maybe it's from being orphaned, from being forced to grow up so early in life. But I am those things.  
  
But those sort of comments don't bother me much anymore, especially not as much as they used to. In some strange, stubborn way, I'm a little proud of them.  
  
My father used to tell me that I was a born leader. The Professor's said it too, and still does.  
  
I didn't put much stock into it before, especially when my father said it. But then again, I was only eight years old at the time. And when the Professor would say it to me, I'd just grow silent or change the subject, shy of the attention.  
  
I didn't really realize what he--what they both meant when they said it. Not until much later, that is.  
  
But again, I'm straying from the subject at hand.  
  
Trees on one side, the cold ocean on the other, the two melding into long blurs of their respective colors as my car and I make our way along the winding coastal roads of the aptly named Bayville.  
  
Monday morning, heading for school. The only time that my car _isn't_ my godsend. Kurt was my sole passenger - Kitty was riding with Jean in her new car, Evan is gone, and Rogue is still recuperating.  
  
And, as usual, Kurt was complaining about school.  
  
"Man, I don't know vhy ve even go to school, anymore. Ve can just get tutored like ze Brotherhood."  
  
I agreed with him. School seemed pointless and futile, not to mention dangerous. There's too much anti-mutant sentiment floating around, _especially_ at school, where the bulk of Bayville's mutant population unknowingly frequented before the whole deal with the Sentinel.  
  
I'm still the same person I was before. The exact same person. But people won't or don't understand that. My eyes emitted beams of optic energy long before anyone knew. And I guess that's why there's so much hostility towards me and the others - we kept our abilities hidden while trying to live our lives as normal as possible.  
  
And I suppose our fights with the Brotherhood, the ones that caused so much property damage, don't help things.  
  
Irregardless of all that, I'm still sick and tired of the stares and whispers and comments and remarks. You can only ignore them for so long...  
  
I agree with Kurt. Why waste my time at a place I'm not wanted?  
  
But that goes against the Professor's dream, his vision. And so, I go to school.  
  
"Man, vhy won't you speed up? You're driving soooooooo sloooooow!" Kurt made a stupid face and attempted to imitate me driving.  
  
"You're more than welcome to 'port the rest of the way there, Kurt. No one's making you stay with me."  
  
"Ja, I know." He lightly hit my arm and laughed. "But somebody's got to keep you from being so serious."  
  
It was hard to keep a bad mood around Kurt, that's for sure.  
  
"I'd drive faster," I said, "But this old girl isn't exactly the most inconspicuous of vehicles in Bayville. I'm sure the police know that I drive it, and know full well who I am. I doubt they'd need much excuse to give a mutant a hard time."  
  
Kurt's face darkened, and his playful smile disappeared. He nodded grimly, and the rest of the trip to school was done in silence.  
  
As I brought the car to a halt in the looming parking lot of Bayville High, I suddenly wished I had a less noticeable vehicle. Red convertibles were high on the 'Top Most Stolen Cars' list...having it stolen was always a worry of mine. But now...I should start walking. Or get a busted up Oldsmobile like normal teenagers drive.  
  
I part ways with Kurt, with a little thumbs-up exchanged for good luck, and I set out for class. And try to ignore the stares. And scowls. And the comments made.  
  
Upon entering my first period class, the room grows silent. I sigh wearily, wondering why I'm not used to that already.  
  
I take my new seat in the back of the classroom, stepping over a foot 'accidently' placed in the middle of the aisle on my way there. The stares and scowls and hushes whispers bounce off my back, and I slump into my chair.  
  
At the front of the class, the teacher watches me suspiciously, trying to casually play if off as he tidies up his desk.  
  
A month ago, everything was different. And in one day, it all changed. _Everything_ changed.  
  
I've been thinking alot lately to when we were studying things in History class, like the Civil Rights movement, or to any time in recorded human history that a group of people were persecuted for some reason or another.  
  
Maybe I'm just being melodramatic about it. Maybe I'm pretty high on myself, comparing events of the past to what's going on now. Maybe I'm throwing the whole situation out of proportion, making it out to be more than it really is. Maybe.  
  
But when I turn on the nightly news and see coverage of anti-mutant protests and rallies, or politicians arguing over things like the Mutant Registration Act or worse, I know that alot of people would like to see all the mutants locked up, even killed.  
  
And why? Why go to so much trouble over a tiny portion of the population?  
  
Because of fear.  
  
It's human nature to initially fear what you don't understand. And sadly, it's also human nature to try and destroy what you don't understand.  
  
Because of fear.  
  
Of course, not everyone feels like that. Which is sort of a doubled-edged sword.  
  
There are those who feel that humans and mutants can live side-by-side in harmony and peace; that's the Professor's goal, and indirectly, my goal, and the purpose of the X-Men.  
  
Unfortunately, those people are few and far between, and not very vocal of their opinions.  
  
Logan and Kurt are prime examples of the dark side of humans embracing mutants. Their curiosity and need to understand them obviously leads to the studying of mutants, but also sadly to experimentation on mutants.  
  
If it isn't obvious by now, I've listened to the Professor and Magneto give their views on the situation far too many times. As much as it pains me to say, both bring up good, valid points, and it's hard for me to be optimistic when Magneto's pitch sounds so...right. But when I get to thinking about that, I dust it aside, remembering full well what happened last time I listened to the Master of Magnetism.  
  
The commotion picks back up after I sit, starting back up as quickly as it died off. I guess I didn't pose an immediate threat to require their full attention.  
  
Then the bell rings, crying it's shrilly song. I used to live and die by that bell, back when everyone thought I was normal. Now...it doesn't seem nearly so important.  
  
My teacher steps into the middle of the classroom, a stack of papers in hand, and addresses the class, like he always does.  
  
"Good morning, class. I trust everyone's weekends went well." He pauses to let the grunts and groans and laughs and comments subside, and continues. "Alright, I've graded your tests from last Friday, as I'm sure you're all dying to know how you did." Again, a pause for the chuckles from his joke. Again, he continues. "I must say, you all did quite well."  
  
Tests. I remember when those were the worst I had to worry about. I also remember that the test we took on Friday was a piece of cake.  
  
The teacher hands out the papers, passing them down the rows to their respective owners.  
  
Mine reaches me, just _slightly_ crumpled. It wouldn't surprise me if it was caused by the same person who tried to trip me only minutes before. And, of course, the paper looks as though it were the scene of a massacre.  
  
Even though EVERYTHING is bathed in red to me, I could still tell that the teacher put his grading pen to good use on my test.  
  
I sat dumbfounded, and my hand clenched down on the paper, causing further crinkling. I was pretty damn sure I passed that test...I could have passed it _asleep_.  
  
'54' was scrawled across the top, and underneath it read, 'Please see me after class.'  
  
I groaned softly, knowing full well what that meant. I had been breezing through my English class before everything went to hell. There was only one reason why I made a horrible grade, and it wasn't because I didn't know the material.  
  
This wasn't my only teacher with a grudge against mutants. I knew of at least one other. And I knew that nothing I could do would stop them from prejudicing me. I've been doubting as to whether or not I'll end up graduating high school...  
  
Like it'd matter in the end anyway...  
  
The class passed in a blur, like the trees and ocean less than an hour before. And how I wished I was back in my car, where I could get away from everything...  
  
I was the last to leave when the bell rang again, and slowly approached the teacher's desk. He glanced up at me and for the briefest of moments, I thought I saw him sneer.  
  
"You uh...wanted to see me, sir?" I held up my battered test paper for him to see.  
  
This time, his expression stayed. A knowing, confident smirk.  
  
"There's nothing to say, Mr. Summers. You may leave now."  
  
He waved his hand to the door and went back to work on the papers on his desk.  
  
I stood there, shock and confusion fusing into one inside of me. I tried to speak, but no words came to me. Again, my grip tightened on the paper.  
  
He looked up at me again and said, "You're still here? I thought I told you to leave already."  
  
I sighed dejectedly, and left the room, hanging my head in defeat.  
  
I should have done something back there, I told myself. I could have done something.  
  
But that's what he would have wanted. An excuse to get me expelled. So I had to simply leave with my tail between my legs.  
  
It was a lose-lose fight for sure, but one I still had to fight. I just prayed the rest of my day went a little better.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
********  
[Footnote] - I don't know if they have the whole Mutant Registration Act in the Evolution universe, like in the movie (and probably comic), but for this story, they do.  
  
Boy, that was a roller coaster of a chapter, huh? Confusing I bet. I didn't bother to proof-read it. I probably should have, huh? Well...it helps emphasize the story title.  



	5. Awry

Disclaimer: Again, I only own this story, but not it's characters and the source material. Don't sue me, Marvel.  
  
Author's Notes: I love you guys. Especially Post. And I hope I didn't go overboard with the accents (Randi, shut up).  
  
-----------------------------  
  
  
**Teetering**  
**Chapter Five**  
  
  
  
  
"So...how are you?"  
  
She sighed. "Haven't we been through this already? Many times, 'Ah recall."  
  
I grinned. I couldn't help it. Her wry wit was something I always liked about her. Not to mention the accent.  
  
"Hmm. You must be feeling better. You're becoming more and more like your cheerful old self." I kept the grin going so she wouldn't take offense to that.  
  
"Ha ha, _Kurt_. When did yah become such a comedian, huh?"  
  
"Oh, didn't you know? I've _always_ been funny."  
  
"If your idea of funny is Danger Room sessions first thing in the mornin', then Ah take back what Ah said befo'."  
  
"Touchè."  
  
We laughed, and for that moment, I was in my ideal world with Rogue: the two of us talking, laughing, enjoying one another's company. I knew that I had to find a way to make that permanent, make it lasting.  
  
"You need to hurry up and get better. Place isn't the same without you."  
  
"Shh-yeah right. Ah'm sure no one noticed Ah'm even gone."  
  
"Oh, what makes you think that? Everyone misses you, especially with Evan gone gone, and some of the younger students, too. Not to mention this whole 'Mesmero and the three keys' thing going on. Seeing another friendly face is also good on a burdened spirit."  
  
"_Friendly_ face?"  
  
I wished she wasn't so self-deprecating. She was far too good of a person to do so all the time. But still, to keep up the facade of mere friendliness going, I laughed. Subtlety was the key.  
  
"Fine, fine. How's 'familiar' work?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, but her small smile meant that I had gotten away with not offending her...again.  
  
"And you actually expect meh ta believe all that?"  
  
Again, I wasn't sure whether to frown at her pessimism or laugh at her wit. So I did neither. I changed the subject.  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, you're not missing anything by not going to school."  
  
"That's fo' sure."  
  
I shrugged. "Maybe you're better off not coming back. I figure you could stay here and get tutored like the Brotherhood boys."  
  
"Ugh. School sounds lahke paradise compared to that."  
  
We both laughed, easily seeing the humor in that, while knowing it was far from the truth. And then...  
  
"Scott, can Ah ask ya somethin'?"  
  
Whoa. Weren't we just laughing?  
  
That caught my attention, cutting off her laughter like a hot knife through butter, or so I think the saying goes. It came out of nowhere, that's for sure. Laughing one moment, and the next...she sounded so serious. Something seemed to be up.  
  
"Uh, sure. Anything. What is it?"  
  
"Well...Ah want ta know...why do yah keep comin' down here to see meh?"  
  
I froze. That was the question I'd been dreading from her. A million thoughts rumbled through my head and I fought the surge of emotions for the right thing to say; 'right' being neutral and friendly, not overly compassionate and not overly stand-offish.  
  
"Uh...well...to see you, of course."  
  
Doh. Wrong thing to say, Scott. Stupidity: 1, Logic: 0.  
  
Her face showed no expression.  
  
If my body were just a hollow vessel, piloted by a crew of Lilliputians, then sirens would be wailing, klaxons blaring, and a miniature, but obese, Scotsman would be saying, "She's goin' into overload! I just can't control her, Captain! I just don't have the power!"  
  
I had to think of something fast.  
  
"Well, as lame as it sounds, it's true. We're a team, a family, and we take care of each other as best we can. I care about you, and I care for everyone here."  
  
Yes, it was _very_ lame. But it needed to be said until the right time, when she could know how I felt. Stupidity: 1, Logic: 1. I wasn't going to lose this one, oh no.  
  
"Oh. Well...uh...thanks, 'Ah guess." Her tone sounded as if she were disappointed in something I said. Which meant that she might potentially reciprocate the sentiment. Which was good for me.  
  
Very good.  
  
We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, neither of us quite knowing what to say. I sure as hell didn't, at least. And so, on impulse, I did the first thing that clearly came to mind.  
  
"C'mon. Let's go." I grabbed one of her gloved hands and started to pull her up out of the bed.  
  
"What are yah doin', Scott?!?"  
  
"I'm getting you some fresh air," I told her, but she broke free of my grasp.  
  
"Yah know that Ah'm not s'posed to leave this room, raht?"  
  
"But that hasn't stopped you before, has it?"  
  
"Ah don't know what yah're talkin' about," she said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
I smiled. "Don't lie to me. I know you wouldn't still be sane if you were stuck down here all day. Now come on." Again, I took her gloved hand and pulled her forward...  
  
...and promptly let it go.  
  
Why?  
  
Well...  
  
She squeaked.  
  
I almost couldn't believe it.  
  
Never in my life did I expect to hear Rogue squeak.  
  
It...well...caught me off guard.  
  
Because for whatever stupid reason, I expected her to be in her typical green mesh shirt-black top-black skirt get-up. I guess it was the gloves that threw me off. Stupidity: 2, Logic: 1. The score wasn't looking too good.  
  
At least I had enough fortune for her to be wearing _something_ instead of nothing.  
  
Not that I could blame her for whatever girlish noises she made. If I were clad in only a flimsy hospital gown, I'd probably act the same if someone tried to yank me out of my bed.  
  
Well, not squeak. More like a grunt. I'd kill myself if I ever squeaked.  
  
"Sorry," I said, blushing. "Do you have any clothes in here?"  
  
"Nothin' that's clean."  
  
"Then I'll go to your room and get some for you."  
  
This time, she glared. Hard.  
  
"Touch mah stuff, and you die." I was beginning to wonder if there was still a little bit of me left inside her head. The way she was glaring, I was almost afraid something would shoot out from her eyes. I didn't want a repeat of the night that her powers went nuts. Not that it hurt...in fact, I barely felt it. It was mostly a blow to my pride, like the time the Brotherhood pummeled us in the mall.  
  
I sighed. "You aren't going to make this easy, are you?"  
  
It was her turn to sigh, letting out a long, slow breath. "Fahne. Give me five minutes, and Ah'm sure 'Ah can find somethin'."  
  
I smiled. "Good. I'm glad."  
  
A few seconds passed before she angrily blew a lock of hair out of her face. "Well don't just stand there lahke a bump on a log. Git, so 'Ah can change!"  
  
I wasn't one to argue with that.  
  
"Oh, er, uh....sorry." I laughed sheepishly and back-pedaled out the room.  
  
~~~  
  
I was again in my element. Only this time, it was with one of the most important people in my life.  
  
I was glad I knew the layout of the mansion like the back of my hand. It made it so much easier for the two of us to slip out unnoticed. It was almost guaranteed that Rogue would be sent back down to the infirmary if caught by an adult.  
  
But then technically, I was an adult. So it shouldn't have mattered.  
  
But it did, anyway.  
  
"Where are we goin'?" Rogue had asked as I started the engine.  
  
"Nowhere really. Just out."  
  
She seemed a little frustrated at my reply, but easily took it all in stride once she allowed herself to relax.  
  
And so I found myself in the same place I was that morning, the same two-lane coastline-hugging stretch of highway, the forest still stretching out beside me, only the circumstances were much different. I was, safe to say, in better company. God bless Kurt and all his blue fur and humor, but I'd take Rogue any day.  
  
I was out _because I wanted to be out_, even though I still had to be cautious about being in public. I was out with the person I wanted to be with.  
  
Was I in love? I'm not sure. Love is a strong word, one you should only use when you feel this amazing feeling about another person. It wasn't lust. Lust would be horribly pointless with this girl. So it must be love. But what about Jean? I once thought I was in love with her...  
  
It was just something I'd have to work out in time.  
  
But I did know one thing, one glorious thing: with the wind blowing her hair back, and the white lock flailing about in front of her face, Rogue had never looked more beautiful. I had to sneak glances however, since driving down winding, coastal roads takes much concentration, and, of course, I didn't want her to notice and get weirded out.  
  
It was calm and serene, cruising down the two-lane highway along the rugged coastline. A great view, cheesily-romantic, and soothing to the spirit. I loved being on the open road.  
  
I glanced into the rear-view mirror to see a car rapidly approaching from behind. It was only a split second later that the car's horn began to blare.  
  
"Geez, what's that guy's problem?"  
  
"Took the words right out of my mouth, Rogue."  
  
As the car began to close the distance between it and us, I was able to get a better look it.  
  
It was a car, a sedan of some sort, or maybe a coupe. It was a light shade of red, meaning it was probably white, or some silvery metallic color. I can do a pretty good job of discerning what a color is based off it's shade, and from the few memories from my childhood.  
  
I could make out a handful of people inside...around three or four. They all looked to be male. I could immediately tell that this wouldn't be good.  
  
I muttered a string of colorful language, but the wind carried it away despite my pitch and volume.  
  
Besides, it's not like I could have been heard with the horn still honking as if there were no tomorrow.  
  
The car slowed down enough so as to not ram into my bumper, but kept up enough speed to stay right on my tail. A quick glance to the mirror revealed a quartet of laughing teenagers inside the other car.  
  
"Why don't ya'll get off our ass? The road's big 'nough fer us both!" I half expected Rogue to shake her fist at the car as she continued to verbally chastise them.  
  
I sped up, but so did our harassers. Inwardly, I groaned. Granted, I could have _easily_ ended their game with a simple look in their direction, but 'Renegade Mutant Kills Four' was the last thing I wanted to see headlining the newspaper.  
  
As was the norm as of late, a million questions ran through my head, first and foremost, why were they doing this, and how would I get them to stop.  
  
Dumb kids out looking for a good time. And their idea of a good time was persecuting a pair of local, and known mutants.  
  
Well, maybe 'persecuting' is too strong a word.  
  
Harass. Annoy. Bother. Anger. Disturb.  
  
Those, and countless other verbs work just as well in it's place.  
  
But tailgating and the horn was just the first phase of their 'game', their 'plan', their 'fun'.  
  
The blaring stopped, and they backed off. But just far enough to give them enough distance to pass me. Or so I presumed.  
  
Never, _ever_ presume. Stupidity: 3, Logic: 1. And this was the point that tipped the balance far from my favor.  
  
Moving into the lane for oncoming traffic, the car pulled up right beside mine, a person hanging out from the front passenger side window, and one from the right rear window. And they held objects in their hands.  
  
"Get down!" I shouted to Rogue, motioning her to duck her head.  
  
"Huh? Why?" She was shouting as well.  
  
"Just do it!"  
  
No sooner than I breathed those words that I heard a smash and a crash as an empty bottle, probably once containing beer, shattered across the hood. The motion forced a few shards up and over the windshield.  
  
Rogue screamed, and ducked as I told her. Me, I had less of a reaction time. I needlessly shut my eyes and looked down, feeling a few scant pieces zoom alongside my head.  
  
"Stay down!" I shouted to Rogue as I tried to focus on the road again.  
  
SMASH! CRASH!  
  
A bottle flew past my head, luckily missing the car. A second was overthrown, smashing in the road in front of us. But the third...the third hit it's mark, smashing right on the top of my driver-side door, exploding into several airborne shards.  
  
A jagged piece of glass pierced the skin, and I screamed out in pain. It scraped across the top of my hand, and blood quickly began to pour out. It hit hard and fast, and cut deep. I involuntarily jerked my hand away and shook it in a vain effort to soothe the pain.  
  
But a cut hand was the least of my worries.  
  
One hand on the steering wheel, one on the gear shift. When either one of those becomes disabled, the whole system of operation fails.  
  
With no way to navigate itself, the car was unable to follow the curve in the road.  
  
It smashed through the metal guard rails and plunged headlong into the tree line running parallel to the ocean.  
  
Tires screamed.  
  
The engine screamed.  
  
Rogue screamed.  
  
I screamed.  
  
The last thing I remember thinking was if I had buckled my seat belt, and if Rogue would be okay...  
...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
********  



	6. Dementia

Disclaimer: Again, I only own this story, as in the plot and dialogue, but not the characters or the source material. Please don't sue me, Marvel.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long to update. I discovered a godly series of books (read all six) and I discovered a passion for poetry, and you can read them over on Fictionpress.net, under this same username (duh). Not to toot my own horn, but some are pretty good. But you're not here for poetry. You're here for X-Men. Woo. I just hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much.  
  
  
-----------------------------  
  
  
**Teetering**  
**Chapter Six**  
  
  
  
  
_"...isn't looking good..."_  
_"...fracture, multiple cuts and bruises, and enormous blood loss..."_  
  
To say that I had a killer fucking headache would have been an understatement.  
  
Maybe this was what alcoholics felt like after they drank _waaaaaaay_ too much.  
  
No...all the liquor in the world couldn't make someone feel like this. At least they'd be fortunate enough to die from alcohol poisoning.  
  
Me...I could only hope to be so lucky.  
  
The first thing I noticed (other than searing pain) was that I couldn't see anything. I think I had my eyes open, but I wasn't sure. Everything was just black.  
  
Not that I really cared, what with the throbbing inside my skull.  
  
I can't really describe the feeling. It's like Genghis Khan and his Mongolian hordes rode across the length of my brain, like someone drove a bulldozer into my skull, like a Mariachi band was in a perpetual state of playing 'La Cucaracha' inside of me, with no signs of letting up.  
  
It was perhaps the most miserable feeling on the planet.  
  
The real kicker was...I've had worse.  
  
Crashing your car into a tree is never, _ever_ a good thing. But it's nothing compared to freefalling out of an airplane and landing onto the cold, hard ground.  
  
And I knew that if I could survive that, I was going to survive this.  
  
But it didn't make it hurt any less.  
  
I probably would have sighed if I had been able to, if I remembered how to sigh.  
  
Exhaustion. That was the word of the day. And I was in no condition to argue with it.  
  
~~~  
  
_"...massive head trauma..."_  
_"...be worse before they get better..."_  
  
The headache had diminished, but by no means was it gone.  
  
I opened my eyes but couldn't see anything. Complete and total darkness.  
  
But then, I wasn't even sure if I was opening my eyes or not. To say that my senses had been dulled would have been an understatement.  
  
I tried to blink and look around, but it was still dark.  
  
Basic motor functions were still intact...I think. I opened my mouth, and somewhere down past the scratchy and painfully sore throat, a made a noise. A moan, groan, whine - something, _anything_.  
  
"Scott?"  
  
If I hadn't been bone weary, I probably would have jumped a few feet into the air from the shock.  
  
Pinpointing the voice and putting a face to it seemed difficult. A constant ringing in my ears numbed the sound, but it was definitely feminine.  
  
I tried to reply to whomever it was that spoke to me, but it probably came out as a groan again.  
  
It wasn't long after that I lost all coherency, and I fell asleep.  
  
~~~  
  
_"...if only a skin laceration was the least of our problems..."_  
_"...the injuries are bad...terrible, in fact..."_  
  
I've made a lot of mistakes in my time. Following Magneto to that God-forsaken rock, allowing Mystique to kidnap the Professor, and letting down my friends and teammates, time and time again  
  
And while this time may not be nearly so impacting, it hit much closer than anything else  
  
I had finally decided, once and for all, that I wasn't dead. If I were dead, my head wouldn't feel like a crucible in an iron foundry.  
  
I must have had a bandage over my eyes, because I certainly couldn't see when I opened my eyes.  
  
My chest felt heavy, and my throat bone dry. My ears were still ringing and the rest of me felt like a prickly, throbbing mass. It was like my whole body was asleep, not just a leg or an arm or something.  
  
And then the really killer thought hit me. I'm not sure when it surfaced, but it really hit hard.  
  
I could be a vegetable.  
  
Complete loss of all outward motor functions. My brain still worked, but the rest of me didn't. But I thought it was the other way around - the body still ran but the brain was closed for all eternity.  
  
I didn't like to think thoughts like those. But it was inevitable.  
  
The real kicker was that I'd had worse.  
  
~~~  
  
_"...fortunate that she isn't nearly as injured as he..."_  
_"...that sweet ride trashed…what a shame..."_  
  
I've been having strange dreams. Probably induced from the head injury.  
  
I dream about the plane crash - when my life ended - about when my powers first manifested - when my new life began - about the accident, about Rogue, about Jean - all worries in my life - about the Professor, sitting in vast emptiness with me, reaching out to me, but I'm just barely out of his reach. All strange and confusing, but then, dreams aren't known for their clarity.  
  
Drifting back into consciousness, I heard a voice beckon me again.  
  
"Scott? Can you hear me?"  
  
Oh, I could hear. Very much so. It was the reply that was difficult. I tried to open my mouth, but I don't think I was met with much luck.  
  
The voice wasn't feminine this time. The source was definitely masculine, and sounded older, wiser. Meaning it was probably the Professor.  
  
It didn't take a genius (or a fully-functioning brain) to figure out that I was not dead and back in the safe confines of the mansion.  
  
I worked furiously to try and speak, but my parched throat still stood as a barrier, even as the throbbing in my skull diminished.  
  
I'm not sure when it happened, but I fell asleep again.  
  
~~~  
  
_"...we're lucky they're both in better shape than the car..."_  
_"...think of the adverse affects it might possibly have on his mutation..."_  
_"...lucky they had their seat belts on..."_  
  
I don't know how long I was out of it before I was finally able to speak. Minutes, hours, days, maybe weeks, or even months.  
  
If I had some way of knowing what would happen, knowing what fate had in store for me, I probably would have opted to stay unconscious…  
  
But the proverbial deck was stacked against me, the Sentinel being the first of many bad hands that life has dealt me, with this being the latest and probably not the last…  
  
The ringing in my head stopped. So did the numbness, the throbbing, almost every feeling of discomfort that had been plaguing me before. All that remained was a slight prickling, like I was being poked with a sewing needle.  
  
I groaned. And this time I was positive on that.  
  
A simple act, but one that caused intense emotion to fill me.  
  
Joy, for finally breaking my being mute for so long.  
  
Sorrow, because it hurt.  
  
And…different.  
  
My throat felt almost…obstructed. I didn't notice it before, so why just now?  
  
I waited a moment before I tried to make another noise.  
  
Again, the obstruction, but it still worked.  
  
"S…Scott?"  
  
I moaned a response.  
  
"Scott? Can you hear me?"  
  
"Uh huh," I replied, or as much as I could.  
  
"Oh my…Charles! Come quickly! I think Scott's awake!"  
  
Female voice. Sounded like Storm. Had her reassuring, almost motherly tone. The confident, commanding voice that made you feel like everything would be just fine.  
  
I made another noise.  
  
"Scott, be still."  
  
I complied.  
  
Then…I can't describe the feeling. It was like…something came _up_ from my throat. Up my windpipe, and out my mouth. It rubbed against my bottom lip, and something tickled the back of my throat, triggering my gag reflex.  
  
I coughed, painful gulps setting my lungs ablaze. I retched, and I think I may have even dry heaved.  
  
Irregardless, I felt drained. All my fuel reserves had been depleted from the onslaught of whatever it was in my throat. I never felt more relieved to know I was laying down.  
  
I was so consumed in my newfound pain that I didn't even notice myself speak.  
  
"Shh…you will be fine. I believe that's a fairly common reaction."  
  
Huh? What was she talking about?"  
  
"What do you mean, child? You just said that you were in much pain."  
  
I did?  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"I didn't know I was talking…" More coughing cut me off.  
  
God, my throat…  
  
"I'm not sure when it's possible, but I'll get you something to drink as soon as it's clear that you can hold it down."  
  
"I coulda sworn that something was down my throat…"  
  
"You were intubated to allow for easier breathing. I removed it when you awoke."  
  
That made sense. I guess with everything else going on with me, something like that can slip by unnoticed. Something like that.  
  
"Oh…okay." I paused for a brief moment. "Wait a second…'we'? Who's 'we'?"  
  
"Yes, Scott. 'We'." That was definitely a different voice.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"I'm here Scott…" his comforting tone replied, and I felt a hand gingerly touch my arm.  
  
"So I'm not dead?"  
  
"No, my dear boy. Far from it."  
  
"That's good to know, I guess. For a while there, I wasn't so sure myself."  
  
"How are you feeling Scott?"  
  
"To be honest, tired. Feel like I've run a dozen Danger Room sessions with no rest in between."  
  
"That's to be expected," the Professor chuckled.  
  
I tried to sit up. Not a good idea.  
  
"Why do I feel like Blob is sitting on top of me?"  
  
"Scott, you were in a car accident…"  
  
"I know," I said calmly. My chest felt as heavy as lead. Staying down on my back seemed like the wisest course of action.  
  
"And your car…"  
  
I winced. "Don't. I just…I'd rather not hear abou—wait! Rogue! Is she okay?! Is she hurt?!" My hands gripped the handrails of my bed and I propelled myself forward…  
  
…Only to fall back in mind numbing pain. My hands balled into fists so tight that my fingernails began to cut into my skin. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I groaned in between frantic gasps wishing that I hadn't lurched forward so quickly.  
  
But in the midst of all that, the proverbial lightbulb went off in my head. Something that overshadowed pain, confusion, the car, my throat, even Rogue.  
  
"Professor," I began calmly, taking a deep breath. "Do I have a bandage over my eyes?" The fact that everything was completely dark never completely dawned on me until that moment.  
  
"No, Scott. Why do you ask?"  
  
You know that feeling of intense dread, where all seems hopeless and forlorn, when it seems like God and every other religious deity is working against you?  
  
Yeah. Take that, and multiply it by ten.  
  
"If there's no bandage, then why can't I see anything?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
********  



	7. Questions

Disclaimer: I only own this story, as in the plot and dialogue, but not the characters or the source material. Please don't sue me, Marvel. I love your comics so much.  
  
Author's Notes: Alright, enough of the cheesy cliffhangers…maybe.  
  
  
-----------------------------  
  
  
**Teetering**  
**Chapter Seven**  
  
  
  
  
  
…  
  
I blinked.  
  
Several times.  
  
And nothing.  
  
Blind.  
  
To be without sight.  
  
Did I still have my powers?  
  
It's such an interesting contrast. I enjoy the nights – the setting of the sun and the departure of the light makes me calm, gives me clarity. It's when I'm most at ease with everything in the world.  
  
But not being able to see at all…nothing in the world scares me more.  
  
When my powers first manifested, I was forced to (coincidentally enough) wear a bandage around my head. It was a scary time.  
  
Young and alone with no family to go to, nowhere to run to, and suddenly laser beams start firing out of my eyes. Only a schizophrenic wouldn't have been scared to death.  
  
Then the literal light at the end of the tunnel appeared for me, and I was granted my vision back. It was tainted, of course, forever bathed in red, but it was sight nonetheless.  
  
I was confused at first. Confused and frightened.  
  
But the Professor told me, showed me what it was. What _I_ was.  
  
And there were more like me.  
  
I think that's what was most attractive about the Professor's dream, about the Institute and what it stood for. I didn't want anyone to feel the same way that I had to.  
  
On the really bad days, I wonder how I manage to swallow that tripe.  
  
At that exact moment, I couldn't say if that was my feeling. It just seemed like God was playing a cruel, sick joke on me.  
  
"Did you hear what I just said?"  
  
I blinked hard, useless as it was, and cocked my head to the voice's direction. "No, sorry. Just got a little side-tracked."  
  
"Understandable in your situation," the Professor said. "But I'm proud of you, Scott. You're taking this quite well."  
  
I carefully shrugged. "Must be the shock," I murmured.  
  
"Scott, I've called Hank and asked him to come down here. I'm sure he can provide a perfectly rational explanation for your…difficulties." Translation: blindness.  
  
It was my turn to sigh. It was all I could do – sigh - and maybe try to relax. I tried to maintain my calm, which was nowhere near an easy task. Ororo propped me up in the bed, so I was delicately trying to maintain perfect stillness as well. If I so much as took too deep a breath, my chest would feel the same way my head did when we fought Juggernaut, when he nearly crushed my skull in his hand. I needed some aspirin. Or maybe morphine. Or both.  
  
"Do you still want to know how she's doing?"  
  
"Huh? Who? What?"  
  
"I was just answering your previous question, the one you asked before this…happened."  
  
"Rogue," I whispered.  
  
Rogue.  
  
Rogue.  
  
Rogue.  
  
RogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogue  
RogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogue  
RogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogue  
RogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogueRogue  
  
ROGUE!  
  
  
_"Get down!" I shouted at her. Glass shattered somewhere near the car.  
  
"Wh—why?"  
  
Shatter.  
  
"Just do it." I reached over and pushed the back of her head. She finally got the idea and folded herself in two, practically kissing her knees.  
  
Shatter.  
  
I watched her head turn up to look at me, her beautiful pale face seeming to stand out more than anything. She didn't look scared, just unsure. I looked into her eyes, those dark swirling pools that I wanted to drown in. They betrayed her thoughts, telling me how she felt. Wide and bright, I stared straight into them. They were beautiful, her eyes. I think she once told me that they were green. I tried hard to picture her in my mind with green eyes. I somehow manage to do it, but it gets more difficult with every passing day. 'The eyes are the gateway to the soul,' or the saying goes. Looking into those eyes of hers, I knew that she trusted me to get her through this thing safely.  
  
Shatter.  
  
Or that's what I translated it to mean. The intense fury of the moment and the fact that they were _just_ eyes made it hard for to know for sure.  
  
Shatter.  
  
"It'll be okay," I mouthed to her.  
  
Shatter.  
  
She nodded but her eyes stayed the same.  
  
Shatter._  
  
  
Again, I tried to get out of the bed. It would have been easier this time since I was sitting up, but awkward because of my inability to see.  
  
That occurred to me a split second after moving – how was I supposed to get anywhere when I couldn't see anything?  
  
Only for a split second, though. The fact that I probably shouldn't have moved _at all_ overtook anything else I may have been thinking at the time.  
  
So yeah, it would have been easier to get up and out of bed with my back propped up against a mound of pillows and the wall.   
But the cushioning didn't make it hurt any less than it did before when I tried to move.  
  
I bit down hard on my tongue as I fell backwards, breathing in rapid-fire bursts.  
  
_"I…have…got…to…stop…doing…that…"_  
  
"Scott, relax, please," the Professor begged. His voice was strained, his tone made him sound as if he were in pain. His voice reflected how I felt – like we had just pushed a ten-ton boulder up a hill.  
  
"Oh," I breathed. "Uh…Was I, uh…projecting my thoughts?"  
  
I couldn't see what my mental barrage had done to the Professor, but I pictured him slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples. The idea made me smile a little, in spite of all the pain.  
  
"Quite loudly. As for the object of your broadcasted thoughts, Rogue is doing quite fine. She suffered only a few minor scrapes in the accident. It was more shock than anything."  
  
And that was that.  
  
With that handful of words, the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun started shining down.  
  
_"Rogue is doing quite fine."_  
  
I let out a sigh of relief, my shouldered burden disappearing.  
  
"If anything had happened to her, I'd never forgive myself…" I murmured softly.  
  
"She's lucky to have someone care for her so deeply," Ororo said. "We all are. You certainly gave us a scare."  
  
I smiled. I didn't care. Nothing else mattered but Rogue.  
  
I must have said that last thought out loud, otherwise my euphoria might have lasted a tiny bit longer.  
  
"Not even your car?"  
  
I sighed. "My car?"  
  
"Gone. I'm sorry, Scott."  
  
"Well what was the point of bringing up the car if you were just going to tell me it were demolished?"  
  
I didn't say that out loud, of course.  
  
"Don't be sorry," I said instead. "I'm sure it's the only reason why Rogue and I are alive."  
  
"We have what we could salvage from of it in the garage. You may…examine it later."  
  
It didn't require super-hearing to notice the pause there. I was silently grateful for the Professor's carefully chosen vocabulary. Something as basic as changing the phrasing of something here and there shouldn't have been important to me, but as is so often the case, it's the little things that count.  
  
Besides, the Professor's always known I've been sensitive about my eyes. I can almost be as bad as a girl when it comes to that.  
  
"What about the eyes that did this? Anything on them?"  
  
"No, unfortunately. And the only witness to the incident was a trucker who came upon you shortly after it occurred. If he hadn't called for an ambulance…well, I will just say he's a great part of why you're still alive."  
  
"Good to know there's still decent people in the world."  
  
The Professor let out an annoyed breath. "You know that isn't true, Scott."  
  
I held my tongue and wisely steered the subject back on topic. I didn't want to have another argument with the Professor about…world issues. "Did the trucker get a good look at the guys that did this?"  
  
"He reported that he saw a vehicle flee the scene upon his arrival, but didn't get a good enough of a look at it, so all the authorities have to work from is a vague and sketchy description of the vehicle they were driving. The police have personally assured me that they will find the miscreants quickly and punish them to the full extent of law."  
  
"Wait a second. Something doesn't add up."  
  
"I don't follow."  
  
"Here. How did I get here if the trucker called for an ambulance? He wasn't a mutant, was he?"  
  
"Oh. No, he was not a mutant. As for your being here, well, let's just say that Hank and I still have some connections in the scientific and doctoral fields. It took little to convince the hospital administrators that you and Rogue would be better under the care of someone who had your best interests in mind."  
  
I nodded slowly, knowing full well what that last part meant. If the life of a mutant were in the hands of a doctor, a doctor bearing ill feelings towards mutants, that one single factor might make the doctor try a little less harder than he normally would.  
  
"How's Rogue?"  
  
"She's fine."  
  
"Didn't I ask that already?"  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"I thought so. Thanks."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For being so patient with me."  
  
"You don't need to thank me for that. You know that I care for you. Everyone here does."  
  
"Yes," Storm chimed in. "You should have seen the procession in here while you were unconscious."  
  
"Even Alvers?"  
  
"Yes, young Lance was one of the first to come down and see you."  
  
"Is that so? I guess I'll just have to be sure to thank him and everyone when you let me up."  
  
"Oh, but you can't go. The fun hasn't yet begun."  
  
A new voice. "Mr. McCoy?" I felt a bit of pride swell up inside of me. Maybe more good news was coming, like I'd be able to see...I don't know, **now** maybe?  
  
"Indeed," the voice said, that gentle tone from the literal beast of a man. "I am here."  
  
"Well?" I said impatiently.  
  
He cleared his throat before speaking.  
  
"Well..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
********  
  
Forgive me for the third bastard cliffhanger in a row.  



End file.
